


i cannot fall in love (with you)

by orionseye



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff and Angst, M/M, New Years, Post-Canon, Self-Discovery, Sexuality Crisis, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionseye/pseuds/orionseye
Summary: June knows better than to make New Year’s resolutions she won’t follow, but this year she made one, and scribbled it in the margins of her excessively color-coded planner.Live your own goddamn life for onceIt seems a simple sentiment enough, but people who love her have been saying that she’s spent more time living for other people than she has for herself, and deep down, June has a creeping feeling they’re right. Her mom’s career blocked her from following her passion in journalism, her brother’s recklessness stopped her from moving to a city where she could be a normal young adult. Other people came first without a thought, and only recently she realized they might not have to.So a simple sentiment. It’s the best she can do.even after alex and henry get their happily ever after, there's still a story left to tella.k.a, the nora x june sequel we are all dying for
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz/Nora Holleran
Comments: 25
Kudos: 56





	1. too many bodies, too many minds

**Author's Note:**

> one of my favourite things about the red white and royal blue universe is the things we take for granted and assume happen in the post-canon. prince charming gets his happy ending, alex goes to law school, everyone finds love and safety and *peace* for once. 
> 
> but real life isn’t a fairy tale. there’s still a story left to tell, still ends left untied. as much as i love thinking about alex and henry snuggled up in brooklyn free of worry from the moment the book ends, you and i both know that’s not what would really happen.
> 
> i’ve been thinking about writing something from june’s perspective: this is that :) it’s my first multi-chapter fic like, ever. by the time this one is going up i have the outline for the rest of the story as well as a few other chapters already written, but there’s still wiggle room for things to change and to be added so feel free to go crazy in the comments about the story as it progresses i guess? i’d love to have your input along the way.
> 
> the title from say it by maggie rogers, because of course it is.
> 
> \- ori

2020 was a lot of things for June Claremont-Diaz. She was caught in between a brand new book deal, a re-election campaign to run, and her little brother’s regular bullshit turned a bit more. It was a whole damn lot.

The things that happened to her this year didn’t so much happen to her, though, as much as they happened to everyone else in her life. She wasn’t much of a character, especially not outside of her work. She was more like an omniscient being who lived and breathed in the sharpest moments her loved ones felt. She was a crack in the wall, overhearing conversations between her dad and his favorite senators, a thread in the ancient carpets that line the White House floors. This year brought twice the hurt it asked for, leaving scars that went deeper than they were called for, all from things she never even really experienced. 

It was hard.

Things have finally settled for everyone around her, though, so they've settled for her too. It’s the last week of the year; June knows better than to make New Year’s resolutions she won’t follow, but this year she made one, and scribbled it in the margins of her excessively color-coded planner.

_Live your own goddamn life for once_

It seems a simple sentiment enough, but people who love her have been saying that she’s spent more time living for other people than she has for herself, and deep down, June has a creeping feeling they’re right. Her mom’s career blocked her from following her passion in journalism, her brother’s recklessness stopped her from moving to a city where she could be a normal young adult. Other people came first without a thought, and only recently she realized they might not have to.

So a simple sentiment. It’s the best she can do.

Still buzzing with the post-election high, the end of December has been a blur of drawn-out Christmas dinners and aggressive planning for the ever-so-prestigious Young America New Year’s Gala. The amount of press coverage the leak of the "Waterloo Letters" drew in managed to, incredibly, bring even more attention to this party than ever before. The guest list has expanded to almost twice its usual size, and the ratio of friends to B-list celebrities has grown drastically out of control. Which shade of green works best in their color scheme, cake flavours, plus-one lists; it was the kind of work June loved to take up. Aggressive multi-tasking and schedule coordination served as a distraction from the things she knew she should be thinking about but didn’t want to. 

That’s how she found herself avoiding the creeping end of December dread, with a fork in hand. She’s sitting in front of Zahara and Alex, and they’re trying the seventh slice of chocolate cake they'd had that day. The difference is minute, but the event planner they’ve been working with swears it matters. 

They’re moving onto the eighth, shuffling through the notes the bakery sent over about price points and flavour profiles, when Nora comes barrelling through the door. 

“Pez can’t make it.”

“Wow,” Alex says, without looking up from the notes he’s scribbling on the back of a scrap price of paper, “what happened to hello Alex, how are you?” 

Nora flips him off casually, pulling a chair out besides June and falling into it unceremoniously.

“Pez can’t make it. To the party. He has a thing.”

“So?” June asks.

“So the number of members from the Super Six on premise drop from the implied six all the way down to four,” she rattles off, “and as nice as it is to assume that people are interested in us it’s hard to make headlines when a bad tabloid can’t call us by the group name, and I know we don’t love the way the press has been covering us recently, but this is a fundraiser and we need the attention, and our engagement numbers have been shown to drop when—“

“Nora.” June states firmly, cutting her off. She swivels in her chair to face her, their knees knocking together. “I know you love math, but sometimes you can’t calculate everything. Calm down. Isn’t Timothee Chalamet on the guest list? We have attention coming left, right and center. It’s going to be fine.” She places her hand on Nora’s knee, tries to steady the nervous energy she’s radiating.

Nora looks down at her lap. “’m sorry. You're right.”

This is a thing she does regularly; Nora’s mind is so attracted to logic, to the small details, that it takes seemingly everything to get her to see the big picture. June’s the opposite, moving so quickly over big ideas that sometimes she forgets about the little things, the ones that actually make an idea a reality. They’re a perfect team this way, balancing each other’s vices, highlighting their virtues, even if it means pulling Nora’s head out of her ass sometimes. They met for the first time when she was fresh out of high school and June was barely out of college, young and spirited and still starstruck by the thrill of the campaign trail. The press designated Nora her best friend from day one, and they grew into that name quickly thereafter. Four years of forced proximity later, they were at each other’s side for everything, for the ugly, the pretty, and the weird. 

That includes New Years Eve, the night of the fourth annual Legendary Balls-Out Bananas White House Trio New Year’s Eve Party, as Alex hasn’t stopped calling it, for some reason. They spent the entire morning getting ready together, hiding out in the West Bedroom of the White House, perfecting each other’s eyeliner and pointedly ignoring everyone else in the building who wanted to see them. As promised, Pez’s absence leaves the party down to four. Henry had been staying in DC this Christmas, an arrangement Leo and their mother claimed was the least they could do after finding out the intricacies of the drama in the Royal family. They meet down in the East Ballroom just in time to sneak a shot (vodka, much to Henry’s complaints) before anyone else arrives. 

And then the party begins.

June remembers that the first time they hosted this gala, anxiously warning her brother that the East Room was too small to fit so many people. It had always felt like a tight fit, too many bodies, too many minds, cramped under dusty chandeliers. Tonight is no exception, and the room fills quickly, almost too quickly for June’s taste, expensive leather loafers and high heels scraping the ancient hardwood floors.

The next hour is a blur of hands and lights and movements, and she stumbles to find her place in the rush of it all. Alex gives a speech at one point, one they co-wrote together, about the charity they’re funding this year with the gala. The applause he gets in return is unbelievable, and June feels pride squeeze in her chest when he looks at her from up on the stage. They huddle around him when he gets off, all praise and laughter and inside jokes, sweet on the tip of the tongue. It’s comfortable like that, a dynamic where June knows her place. It is, until suddenly, they split. It happens almost immediately, each of them heading towards someone they’d spotted in the crowd that caught their eye. 

And June finds herself alone. 

It’s funny, almost.

This is her party. She’s supposed to be hosting. Not standing in a corner of the room with a cup in hand, which she finds herself doing for significantly longer than she would like to admit. 

She scans the crowd frantically, so many people moving and chatting and living, living, living. She vaguely remembers telling herself she wasn’t going to do it like this this year.

Nora steps into a clearing amongst everyone eventually. Thank god. Her saving grace, her best friend. 

June has seen her at her best, her most made up, and at her worst, her sickness and her sadness and her desperately hungover. She knows, objectively, that Nora looks the best she has in a while here, fluorescent lighting catching on her skin like wildfire. Seeing her like this, the flush in her cheeks, the soft part of her lips as she scans the room for June, the blinding smile she gives on instinct when she finds her, it grounds her, in an all encompassing way no one else could ever dream to do. They meet in the middle of the space between them, and Nora links arms with her tightly. It's her way of apologizing for leaving so swiftly. June accepts it right away.

It takes a drink or two before Nora decides they can finally make their way across the floor, but by the time they’re making small talk, June’s fears have melted. On a different night, they’d be on the lookout for a hookup, or at least trying their best to make connections, but it’s different this time, even among interns, distant friends, and the who’s-who of America’s hottest. There’s an air of relief, the slow release of twelve months of pressure, and there’s no room for anyone else. Nora looks at her like she’s the only person there, and it’s perfect like this. Just her and her best friend against the rest of the world. Every time their hands brush, she can feel a little more tension dissipating, until all she is and all she can remember being is happy.

A DJ takes over eventually, and the energy in the room builds up several notches. June tries her best to participate; they drink and dance to the usual mix of nostalgic 2000s pop music for what seems to be ages. Dancing and dancing and dancing, with each other, with strangers, with their friends. Nora spots Alex and Henry with just thirty minutes until the countdown hits zero, and they dance with them too.

They circle up, the way they always have, for the final countdown. 

“Isn’t this your anniversary or something?” June points out.

Alex grins, leaning over to his boyfriend beside him. Henry definitely had one too many drinks, but only those who knew him the way June did would know his tells: the slight wobble in his posture, the lack of guardedness that let him get close to others, let him wrap his hands so surely around her brother’s waist. He is, truly, still Prince Charming, even with his eyes slightly crossed and his smile crooked the way it is now. He leans it to whisper something into Alex’s ear and he tries his best not to laugh in response. 

“Or something.” Alex replies. 

“Can you believe you were upset last year that I put Hen on the guest list?”

“I was not upset.”

“You were mildly irritated.”

“And now he’s my boyfriend. What’s your point?” 

“That was my doing! You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You’re just salty you’re single, Bug”

“Speaking of,“ Henry starts. “Who’s Nora kissing this New Year’s Eve? I have a feeling I’ve disturbed your annual tradition.”

“Sorry babe, ‘m taken this time.” Alex announces from a mumble into the crook of Henry’s neck. “Stick your tongue down someone else’s throat this year.”

“Oh c’mon,” Nora moans. “I thought we were still gonna do it! For old times sake?” She bats her dark eyelashes mockingly.

Alex shakes his head, his nose pressed against the underside of Henry’s jaw, hands wrapped around his neck. It’s an easy no filled with humor. Nora groans in exasperation.

“You are a horrible friend. It’s T-minus less than a minute until New Year’s, and I need to find someone hot to kiss. Like, now.”

Alex turns to face her. “Or you could not draw attention to yourself for one year.”

“Impossible.”

“You two are horrible,” June interjects, turning towards Nora.

It’s the second time this evening she’s had the chance to just slow down and look at her. Nora, Nora, Nora. Nora and her eyes, deep and dark and sharp in a way that feels like she knows more about the world than June ever will. Nora and soft lines of her face, her jaw, her neck, the place they meet. Nora and the friendly set of her lips, the soft curve of her cupid’s bow.

God, June’s drunker than she thought.

“Actually,” Nora starts, turning towards her. “I’ve got an idea.” There’s a familiar glint in her eyes.

The overhead speaker system starts the final countdown.

Ten.

Long legs. A silk dress. Nora fills her senses.

Nine.

She takes a step towards her.

Eight.

A smile.

Seven.

“June?” she asks.

Six.

Her look is full of intention.

Five.

Four.

Another step.

Three.

Two.

Hands moved upwards, thumbs braced on June’s temples.

_Oh?_

One.

June doesn’t register much at this moment. 

Nora’s mouth is warm. She tastes like expensive liquor.

The crowd is loud.

Nora’s kissing her.

The butterflies in her stomach barely pass for intoxication as her friend pulls her closer by the waist.

There’s a flash, Another. Cameras?

June doesn’t care. She leans in subconsciously, chasing the contact, trying to deepen the kiss. Nora pulls away before she gets the chance.

Henry and Alex are staring at them, Alex wearing the biggest, shit-eating grin June has ever seen, Henry’s stifling a laugh. She’s vaguely aware of the blush in her cheeks. It's mainly white noise.

“Welcome to 2021?” Henry suggests.

“Do you always have to steal my shine?” Alex asks

“If I can’t help it,” Nora winks. 

And back to the party they go.


	2. catching up with nights that slipped away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyy let's pretend i update this as often as i promised  
> i got really insecure about my writing and scrapped half of this fic so oops :-) i'm still not quite sure what i'm doing but i sure as hell am doing it.

The first thing June notices when she wakes up in the West Bedroom is her pounding headache.

The second, is a person pressed behind her in bed.

Fuck. 

She’s vaguely aware of the party last night, but she has no recollection of sleeping with anyone, much less letting them stay the night. Surveying her hangover, she doubts she was sober enough to remember getting them to sign an NDA either. Her heart is in her molars at the thought of dealing with whoever it is, but she gently separates herself from the warmth of the body behind her. June’s stream of consciousness is more curse words and a stumble-through of how to get rid of him than anything else, but when she turns her head over, she finds herself face to face with no one other than Nora, still fast asleep.

There’s a flood of relief at the sight of a familiar friend in her bed, a body she knows. A quick examination of the room has their dresses from last night thrown on one of the several couches that line the walls, their shoes kicked at the door. Nora’s wearing a ratty Oxford sweatshirt, one she probably stole from Alex who stole it from Henry, and it’s one or two sizes too big on her. 

June doesn’t know why she’s here, or what led up to Nora not going home last night, but it’s not the first time they’ve woken up together, and things could definitely be worse. She takes comfort in a situation she’s ended up in, well, countless times. 

The night of the Inauguration, the Claremonts officially moved into the White House. The week following was a mess, to say the least. June had done moving days before, and this one was no exception to any of them. The period between entering an empty house and making it your home was a distinct one, the kind of uncomfortable that cements itself in a way you can’t easily forget. She remembers the divorce, and staying in her father’s new place: a modern building, harsh white lines, cold hardwood floors. It was almost a direct contrast to the warmth of the yellow of their childhood home in Texas, just another example of every way her parents were never meant to be. The strangeness of the new environment sunk deep into her family's bones. She remembers hearing her brother sneak out of his bedroom down the hall in the middle of the night, socked feet on hardwood floors. She figured out quickly that he coped with the unfamiliarity by spreading himself thin, leaving pieces of himself wherever he could; an empty pint of Helados ice cream, licked clean in the trash can, scuffed sneakers by the front entrance. He brought this mechanism with him to the White House, and spent more than one night stress-eating ice cream in the kitchens while the rest of his life was still in copiously organized cardboard boxes. 

June never had the nerve he did. She opted for the opposite, minimizing herself and her aura until someone else gave her the green light, a sign that she wouldn’t be stepping on anything fragile. A sign that her new reality was stable and permanent and unignorable. The first week she stayed in California, she didn’t talk to anyone for five days. When she moved to college, she locked herself in her dorm until she was forced to go to class. All her joy, her extroversion, slipped away from her in a way she could never really catch up to.

Until Nora.

On Inauguration day, Nora had taken a time off school to be in DC, her heavy courseload at MIT shoved aside with the excuse of keeping up national appearances. Though her grandparents were already living in a residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory, she stayed in the White House that night, adamant on not leaving until she was sure both June and Alex were okay. Despite their attempts to be together, little comfort was found with Alex, anxious as he is. A few hours passed and, well, it was just them. Two girls, cavernous rooms, and the ghosts of White House Past. It became the first of a routine for them, an evening alone. Staying up and talking and laughing until they passed out of exhaustion made for the perfect distraction from an ever-collapsing world. June never had to leave her bubble this way, never had to interact with an environment she wasn’t quite sure could take her. Yet still, she was never as isolated as she was before. She woke up with Nora’s arms wrapped behind her the morning after inauguration. Then again, half a month later when she had a particularly nasty argument with her dad. 

So waking up with Nora is nothing new. Her soft breathing, the way the morning light, just now peeking behind curtains, ghosts featherlight on her skin. It was known. 

Yet there was an unfamiliarity, a discomfort buried deep within June’s skin, her heart twisting into shapes she had never quite felt it in before. 

June’s about to lean over, say something, or wake her up, When Nora moves. She stirs, long legs twisting in bedsheets.

Something in June twists again.

Nora’s almost fully awake now, turning to face her. She tries her best to take control of her ever-speeding heart rate, but it’s hard with Nora’s face right beside hers, drowsy hazel eyes fighting to stay open. 

“Hey there.” 

It’s the first thing she says, her voice still scratchy with sleep. 

“Hi,” June responds softly.

Nora smiles gently. She rolls onto her back, surveying the room the same way June did when she first woke up. When she’s satisfied, she turns back to face her.

“Can I be honest?” Nora asks.

“Always.”

“I totally blacked out last night. I have no idea how we got here.”

June laughs a little. “Me neither.”

“Headlines?” 

“Yeah, we can do headlines.”

 _Headlines_. It was their system for catching up with nights that slipped away from them. A perfect setup of Google Alerts and carefully selecting who to follow on Instagram meant that any public information about themselves was readily available and neatly organized, right at their fingertips. It was a rabbit hole of negativity on most days, between gross tabloid articles and twitter threads made with the sole purpose of objectifying them, but on mornings like this, the events of last night were probably better captured online than in their memory.

June turns to grab her phone from the bedside table. She unlocks it, staring nervously at her homepage.

“Start on Twitter,” Nora suggests, “we’re probably like, trending, if this party isn’t an exception to the last few.”

So June does.

#1 · Trending  
 **#YoungAmericaGala2020**  
29K Tweets 

#2 · Trending  
 **Alex Claremont-Diaz**  
124.6K Tweets

#3 · Trending  
 **FIRSTPRINCE**  
86.9K Tweets

#4 · Trending  
 **NORA**  
71K Tweets

#5 · Trending  
 **JUNE**  
65.1K Tweets

“Oh?”

Alex and Henry had been dominating the news cycle recently. June was used to seeing articles and hashtags about them daily, regardless of how much they avoided the public eye. She and Nora had faded into the background, the perfect supporting characters to the rom-com narrative the press decided they were living. 

June hadn’t been trending like this since she and Henry went on that fake date, and even then it was more about him than it was about her.

She’s almost scared to click on anything. Nora senses the tension, and scoots a bit closer to her, nudging her with her foot.

So she clicks.

**olivia** ✰ @DRIV3RSL1CENSE   
the content we are getting FED rn im crying they all look so cute 😭 #YoungAmericaGala2020

 **erin loves alice <3 ** @hist0ryhuh_  
@ACD and @HRHHenryWales literally own my ass name a better power couple i will wait  
#YoungAmericaGala2020

 **n i c k** @Nick_J4ffe76  
hey @ACD where was the invite bestie #YoungAmericaGala2020

Fluffy tweets, bits of praise here and there, they’re background noise to the picture June scrolls down to. 

It’s a polaroid, and they’re front and center. She, Alex, Henry, and Nora are standing amongst a flurry of confetti, the color she recognizes they chose for the midnight countdown. Henry’s kissing Alex, hands in his hair. And June… well.

June’s kissing Nora.

It’s not a peck on the cheek, not a cute little moment someone might be able to tag as hashtag-friend-goals, girls being girls level platonic. One of her hands is in Nora’s hair, the other is cupping her face. They look more like a couple than, well, the actual couple in the picture.

That’s why they were trending.

The twisting feeling is back, worse now. June doesn’t know why.

“Looks like we had fun?” Nora suggests from her side. June can tell by her tone that she doesn’t care. 

And why should she?

They’re close, and the general public knows that. It’s not like this is much more suggestive of anything but a friendship than anything else they’d been photographed doing. If June sneaking out of Nora’s bedroom in the middle of the night didn’t spark rumors, surely this wouldn’t either.

And even if it did, that’s all they would be. Rumors. They’re both single, and even if either of them were interested in someone, it wouldn’t be each other. Nora may be bisexual, but June’s pretty sure she’s straight.

Like, pretty sure.

Expect for, well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short because i just wanted the kick of publishing to maybe motivate me again? 'm not sure at this point
> 
> alas, a cliffhanger.


	3. see-through

The thought lingers all morning. It’s there with her when June and Nora eventually make it out of bed. It’s there when they survey the damage in the East Ballroom. It’s there when she makes polite conversation with the White House staff, and it’s there when she sits down for brunch with Henry and Alex and her mom. June laughs her way through easy conversation, and even then it nags at the back of her head.

_Is there a name for this feeling?_

_Why am I avoiding it?_

When June dismisses herself from the table, she says something about plans for one thing or another. It’s a lie, a blatant one, but if Nora or her family know something’s wrong, they don't ask.

Running shoes. Expensive leggings she got in a PR package. A bottle of water. Headphones.

June’s feet take her to the Reflecting Pool before she even realizes where she’s going. 

It’s midday. There’s a thick overcast, and it’s supposed to rain, snow maybe. It’s freezing outside. June doesn’t give a fuck.

There’s a song or another playing through her earbuds. She doesn’t recognize it. She doesn’t care enough to skip it. June tries to focus on the ground beneath her, her sneakers hitting the pavement in even rhythms.

But she can’t, because she knows something she didn’t know yesterday. Even if she tries with every fiber in her being to ignore it, it’s her first nature to dissect her feelings. Put every emotion into little boxes she can tuck away for later. 

She can’t push away something she doesn’t understand yet.

June’s rounding her second lap when she gives in and lets herself finally think about it.

She is, objectively, attracted to men. She’s had her fair share of boyfriends and hookups, and they could all testify to that. What she had with Evan, her only long term boyfriend, was real and solid and promising. It was good.

So she likes dudes. Why does anything have to go further than that? She’s perfectly content with her current life, her current relationship status. She doesn’t need to complicate what she has with… whatever she might be.

And besides, what she feels for Nora is totally different than what she’s ever felt for a guy. June knows what it’s like to like someone, the lightness in her chest. It’s not like that with Nora. It’s different. There's no reason to question anything. 

So she’s straight.

She’s been straight her whole life.

She was straight this morning when she woke up in bed with her best friend and felt a little strange about it. It’s fine. 

She was straight when they woke up together in LA, too. Because it’s normal to be wasted and touch-starved, and when you’re sharing a bed, and when Pez, the guy you’re supposed to be into, is knocked out, sleeping like a baby in the marble bathtub, one thing leads to another. It’s natural. It’s normal.

She didn’t even like it that much. She didn’t think about Nora’s body for weeks after. She didn’t. 

That’s not what this is. 

She’s on her third lap now. June picks up the pace.

Besides Nora, it’s not like she can even name another girl she’s ever been attracted to. In fact, she’s had several opportunities to discover her sexuality, and June’s sure that if she wasn’t straight she would’ve known before now.

If June wasn’t straight, she would’ve spent more time figuring out the spark in her gut when her college roommate brushed hands with her in the library, reaching for the same piece of paper while working on a group project. She would’ve taken the warmth she felt for that girl, the late nights and the early mornings and the way they blurred together, and called it attraction. But she didn’t, because it was normal for girls to like, and even love, each other. It didn’t have to be like that, and it wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t like that when they’d text non-stop. It wasn’t anything when they slow-danced in the cramped space between their twin-sized beds in their dorm. That was a joke. She didn’t have that song stuck in her head the whole week after, the words to it on the tip of her tongue. The touch of her roommate’s hand on her shoulder didn’t haunt her at all, as featherlight and soothing as it was.

And even if it did, it didn’t have to mean anything. 

If June wasn’t straight, she would’ve felt something about her best friend in high school. She would’ve felt a skip in her chest when they got each other Valentine’s gifts every year as a joke, and she certainly would’ve felt a little dizzy after they kissed that one time. It was practice for their future boyfriends anyways, so she didn’t. She didn’t do it again, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t even think about it. June, never once, felt nauseous thinking about her.

Well, maybe once. Or twice. 

If she wasn’t straight, she’s pretty sure she’d have an easier time accepting it. 

But maybe that's the whole thing. Maybe it makes sense.

Maybe, just maybe, this could explain that fondness June feels around Amy and her wife. Just being she’s a romantic never quite encapsulated it. Maybe it explains the jealousy she felt when Alex finally came out to her. Wanting a relationship like his never explained it very well either.

_Oh._

There it is, spread out in front of her. Twenty five years of denial, of warmth and sweetness tucked away safely behind her skin, and she didn’t even know.

Maybe she isn’t straight. 

Okay.

June likes when things make sense. She likes to organize things. She likes when things fit. This fits. 

But, it also doesn’t.

June’s not just June. She’s also June Claremont-Diaz, fashion icon, trendsetter. Anything she wears makes its way to the closet of every teenage girl by the following season. Anything she says publicly makes headlines. She writes speeches millions of people listen to. Sometimes she gives those speeches, and then her face tags along with those words, in TV broadcasts and GIFs and eventually in history books. 

June Claremont-Diaz is perfect. She’s the poster child for the White House trio, quite literally. She beats the number of magazine covers Nora and Alex have been on combined. And it makes sense; Alex is the everpresent wild card, and Nora the fan favorite. Someone has to be solid ground. And that’s her. Her nails are always done, her Instagram feed is color-coordinated. Her public persona is as pretty as she is smart, which infuriates just about everyone 

June can be not straight. June has room to experiment. She can take her time, figure out who she is and who she wants to be. 

June Claremont-Diaz can’t. She doesn’t have the room or the privacy to. She doesn’t have Nora’s patience, her capability to pick and choose when to be quiet, or Alex’s magical charm that makes people miraculously look over all the reasons they can and should dislike him. June’s public image is transparent. She’s honest about everything. She always has been.

June doesn’t know how to be anything else but see-through.

So she takes the thoughts, the could-have-been summer loves, every kiss and every touch, and tucks them away into the furthest corner of her mind. She takes the jumbled, untouched clump of emotions she has about Nora, the picture, and everything leading up to it, and pushes them back there too. 

She ignored this once. She can ignore it again.


End file.
